


How now, brown cow?

by m_findlow



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 21:51:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16648475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_findlow/pseuds/m_findlow
Summary: Jack has a curious case of mad cow disease.





	How now, brown cow?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [badly_knitted](https://archiveofourown.org/users/badly_knitted/gifts).



The alarm buzzer went off, waking Ianto. He was lying on top of Jack, who in turn was lying on his stomach, face buried into the pillow.

'Get up, Jack.'

'Mmmoo,' came the muffled response.

'No, get up, it's six thirty. We're supposed to be meeting Gwen at the markets at seven.'

Jack reluctantly pushed himself up off the bed.

'Pale blue or dark blue?' Ianto was asking, already pulling clothes out of the wardrobe.

'Moo.'

Ianto paused, halfway through pulling out his own red shirt, and looked at Jack, eyebrow raised. 'Jack, did you just go "moo"?'

'Moo!'

'Oh boy.'

 

Ianto pinched the bridge of his nose as he watched Jack sat behind his desk, looking for all the world perfectly normal. Except for one small thing.

'Okay, how about one "moo" for yes and two "moo's" for no?'

'Moo.'

'Do you feel okay?'

'Moo.'

'Do you know how or why this is happening?'

'Moo moo.'

'Can you try saying anything else?'

'Moooooooo.' Jack sighed. 'Moo Moo.'

'Right. Um, what now?'

Jack ignored him for a moment and began typing on his computer. He huffed loudly.

'Nothing in the database?'

'Moo moo.'

'Wait, did you just type that in English?'

'Moo?'

'The computer. Here,' Ianto pressed a notepad in front of him. 'Write something.'

Jack picked up a pen and scratched something on the paper.

Ianto studied the notepad. '"Ianto is sexy." Thanks, Jack. At least we've figured out you can still understand English and can write it, you just can't speak it.'

'Moo.'

Ianto groaned. 'I'm going to need a coffee.' 

'Moo Moo!'

'I'm not sure if that means "no", or "me too".'

Jack drew a sad face on the notepad.

'That still doesn't help.'

He tried again.

'Moo too? Close. Lucky you take yours black. Not sure how you'd feel about milk at this point.'

'Mrrr.'

 

Their meeting at the markets was cancelled, and Gwen drove back to meet them at the hub.

'What's wrong with him?'

'Moo.'

'That's what.'

'I don't understand.'

'Moo.'

Gwen smiled nervously. 'Okay, very funny Jack, you've had your little joke now.'

'It's not a joke,' Ianto confirmed. 'It seems he's lost the power of speech, but gained the ability to converse in bovine.'

Gwen gave a tired little sigh. 'And here I was thinking it'd be nice if he couldn't talk for a while.'

'So did I.'

'Moo!' Jack said indignantly.

'Well, looks like I'll be cancelling your phone call with the PM,' Ianto sighed.

'Moo!'

'Don't sound so happy.'

'Okay, so how did this happen?' Gwen asked, putting on her Torchwood investigator hat.

'We don't know. He just woke up like this. He was fine last night.'

'And you didn't get up to anything, er, unusual?'

Ianto paused for a moment, looking up at the ceiling and thinking it over. 'Not in that sense.'

'He hasn't touched anything, eaten anything, drunk anything?'

Ianto slouched back in his chair, arms folded, at a complete loss.

'Moo!' Jack slapped the desk, trying to get their attention.

'What?'

He dashed out of his office and ascended the sprial staircase. They followed after him. He was in the kitchenette pointing at the sink.

'Yes, I know I haven't washed them,' staring at the mugs from last night.

'Moo Moo.'

'Moo Moo?' asked Gwen, raising her eyebrows.

'It means "no",' Ianto clarified.

Jack was in fact pointing at the accompanying bowl. Ianto turned to Jack, expression serious.

'The ice cream?'

'Moo!'

'You had ice cream while I wasn't here?' Gwen asked.

'Jack did.'

'What about you?'

'I don't like ice cream. It gives me a headache.'

He bent down and rifled through the bin, pulling out the container for inspection. 

'You ate a whole carton of ice cream? On your own?' Gwen said accusingly.

Jack looked at her sheepishly, which she found ironic since he was conversing in cow, not sheep.

'There's nothing on the packaging to indicate where it came from or who makes it,' Ianto observed.

'Let's run it through the system, see if anything pops up.'

 

Whilst they were waiting for a computer analysis, they reconvened in Jack's office.

'Where did you get the ice cream, Jack?'

'Moo Moo Moo Moo Moo.'

Ianto rolled his eyes. 'Write it down.'

Jack hastily scribbled down his explanation and handed the notepad to Ianto.

'It says "Moo Moo Moo Moo Moo".' Ianto fwapped him over the head with the notepad.

'Moo!'

'Concentrate! You already proved you can still write in English even if you can't speak it anymore. Focus! Where did you get the ice cream?'

Jack grumbled and started again, under Ianto's watchful gaze. He handed it back.

'And I'll be able to read it this time?'

'Moo.'

'I'll take that as a yes.'

Ianto studied the new notes.

'What does it say?' asked Gwen.

'He bought it from a roadside stall somewhere up in the beacons.'

'Looks like we're going for a road trip then.'

 

They followed Jack's directions out into the lush green countryside and patrolled up and down the roads until they found what they were looking for. The small ramshackle shed stood in a lay by just off the main road.

They got out and started inspecting the produce. A few small ice chests held tubs of cream and bottles of milk. On another bench sat blocks of butter and cheese.

Gwen opened a second ice chest. 'Look familiar?' she said, lifting out one of the plain cartons of ice cream. 'No labels on any of them, just a charity box. Not exactly going cheap either,' Gwen said, viewing the outrageous prices on the small hand painted sign, which looked to have been a cupboard door in a previous life.

'Some people are silly enough, though,' Ianto said, pointedly glaring at Jack.

'Moo!'

'We need to find out who's selling these, and where they're getting it from.'

'I suspect our proprietor probably lives at the end of that access road,' Ianto replied, pointing to the overgrown gravel strip not twenty yards away. 

 

The SUV bumped over the rocky road, clearly not having seen much use, until they came upon a small cottage, looking severely run down with several rusting drums and bits of old hardware littering the yard around it.

'Cosy,' Ianto muttered.

The owner must have heard them approach, for a spry old man tottered out the front door and fixed them with a curious glare. 'Who are you?'

'Are you the owner of the stall at the end of the lane?'

'Yes,' he said confidently. 'Ieuan Morgan. But you still haven't answered my question. Who are you?'

'We're with the National Dairy Board,' Ianto deftly replied. 'Just need to ask you a few questions about your produce. Make sure it's up to our strict quality guidelines.'

'Urgh,' he grunted. 'No wonder cottage industries are dying. Well, you'd better come in then I suppose, so we can get this over with.'

 

The inside of the house was not much of an improvement on the outside. Gwen surmised he'd had a wife at some point, but she must have been long gone given the state of things. It definitely lacked a woman's touch.

'Has your wife been gone long, Mr Morgan?' she asked, trying to help him make tea, but only finding cupboards full of stale saltines and a mousetrap still containing its last victim.

'Buried her last year. Ice patch out near Heads of the Valleys junction, caused her car to skid off the road.'

'I'm sorry.'

'No matter,' he said, lifting the tray of teacups out to the living room. 'Can't change the past, and she was a lead foot. Do any of you take milk and sugar?'

'No!' Gwen and Ianto both quickly replied, rather a little more enthusiastically than necessary.

'Me neither. Lactose intolerant. Fancy that eh, a dairy farmer who can't eat dairy!'

He studied Jack for a moment. 'Never did catch your name, son.'

Ianto could hear Jack inhaling, ready to respond before he quickly grabbed his arm and stopped him. The last thing they needed was Jack trying to "moo" out the words. 'It's Jack,' Ianto replied. 'He's my assistant.'

'Can't speak for himself?'

'Deaf mute, unfortunately. But he's an excellent lip reader, aren't you Jack?'

Jack forced a smile and nodded. Assistant? Ianto knew how much he hated that designation.

'And how long have you been a dairy farmer, Mr Morgan?' Gwen interrupted, before Jack and Ianto got into fisticuffs over their latest role play.

'Only about three months.'

'What made you decide to do it?'

'Oh, just sort of fell in my lap you could say. I was out for a walk along the property boundaries, and there were these cows in the paddock. Just sort of turned up one day. Got lost is how I figure it.'

'And they weren't tagged and registered as belonging to some other farmer?'

'No. I checked first. Not proper to steal other people's property. Anyway, they were still there when I came back the next day, and the next, so I just sort of took to caring for them. Then I decided I could make a few quid, milking them and selling the produce.'

Gwen and Ianto exchanged glances. 'Do you mind if we take a look at your herd? All part of our process,' she explained.

'Yeah, alright.' He looked down at their shoes. 'But you might want to borrow some wellies.' 

 

The four of them trekked across the fields to where Mr Morgan was keeping his cattle. Gwen's borrowed boots were too big for her and she kept tripping over herself. Jack's, on the other hand, were too small and he looked every bit as uncomfortable.

'Not really dressed for this sort of job, are you?' Mr Morgan commented.

'Most of what we do is large corporate,' Ianto explained. 'Sterile processing plants and the like. Smaller farmers usually just sell their milk to the larger producers.'

They ignored most of his ranting about the Tories and how they were ruining the country by pandering to big conglomerates, as they made their way across the fields. It seemed he was just glad for the company and someone to natter at.

'Here they are then, my modest flock.'

'Thanks. Could you give us half an hour just to look them over? All pretty mundane. Why don't you go back inside in the warm? We'll be done in no time.'

'Suit yourselves,' he said, wandering off. 

 

In the field were just ten cows. At least, they looked like cows.

Jack jumped the fence and proceeded over towards them, not waiting for the others, having had enough of playing the lowly assistant. He was their leader and he was going to straighten this out singlehandedly.

Gwen and Ianto leaned on the top railing and watched as he paraded ungraciously across the paddock in his too small boots, trying not to slip over on the cow pat he'd just landed in.

'Captain Jack Harkness, cow whisperer,' Ianto declared, and Gwen giggled.

Jack started mooing at the herd and one mooed back. He made another series of moos and received some in return. Curious, Gwen and Ianto both ducked under the fence rails and came over to join him.

Jack looked quite pleased with himself.

'Having fun?'

'Moo.'

'Don't tell me you actually speak cow?'

'Moo!'

Jack pulled out the notepad and scrunched his face, trying to write down what he'd discovered in as few words as possible. He handed the notepad out to Ianto. 

"Alien cows. Milk fed to newborns to teach them the language. Moo. Sorry. Not milked on their home world, but they liked it. Didn't realise. Moo. Sorry again. Should wear off in a few days."

'Well, that's a relief.'

Jack told them that they would make sure no one else consumed the milk they produced, but that they were welcome to stay here as long as they liked.

Judging by the moos from the herd, Gwen and Ianto didn't need to speak cow to know that they were very happy with the arrangement. 

 

On their return to the farmhouse, they had to deliver the bad news to Mr Morgan that due to the quality of the grass, the milk produced by his cattle was not of the required health standard for public consumption, and that they would have to confiscate his wares.

'But how am I supposed to earn a living?' The poor man looked heartbroken. Gwen wished there was something more they could do.

'Actually,' interrupted Ianto, 'the board has some additional funding grants available to small farmers. We'd suggest that your cows are of a good temperament and are more than suitable for a petting farm, where children could be shown how cows are milked. The additional money would allow you to purchase some other small animals and to erect proper fencing and farmhouse facilities.'

Mr Morgan seemed to love the idea. And he'd have people to talk to all day long. The idea was brilliant and if Jack could have kissed him right then and there, he would have.

'Our grants board should be in touch with you to arrange the funding, and some additional marketing to get you on your feet.'

'Thank you. Thank you so much. Loretta would have loved that.'

'Maybe you could name the farm after her,' Gwen suggested, 'In her honour.'

'I will. Loretta Downs. Has a nice ring to it.'

 

The drive back to Cardiff was a long one and Jack scribbled out the word "hungry" on his pad.

'Me too,' agreed Gwen, 'but perhaps we should steer clear of pizza? Just for the time being. Too much cheese.'

'Good idea. Chinese it is then,' Ianto announced.

'Moo!' Jack agreed.


End file.
